Interrogation
by Ms. ST
Summary: He had lost something very dear to him, which means someone or something would have to pay the price. Oneshot. Rated T for language and one suggestive... sentence.


_A/N: I don't have much to say in the author's note… Hey, do I hear cheering in the background? Hmm. Anyway, I thought this story would be humorous. It's not long, and it shows how far one would drive the Mad Hatter into cuckoo-ville if one would steal his hat. And like always, it ends with him and the March Hare. Enjoy._

_Disclaimer: My least favorite part – admitting I do not own these wonderful creatures._

"You know where it is, do you not?" asked the Mad Hatter, calming clasping his hands behind his back. "I know you do. I know you do. But where did you hide it? And, more importantly, why would you hide it?"

His suspect said nothing.

"The silent treatment, eh?" said the Mad Hatter as he stepped forward. "Well, alright. If you are to be that way, I have no choice but to force it out of you." Hatter stepped aside and grabbed a saw off the stone wall of his basement. He skipped back and resumed the position in front of his victim, grinning and waving the weapon threateningly and teasingly. He flipped the saw around his back, catching it in his other hand. He laughed; he stuck out his tongue; he talked in gibberish; he jumped around like a chimpanzee; he spat on the ground around the feet of his victim.

However, his frolics did nothing to scare his suspect. His suspect stood there, unfazed. This angered Hatter entirely. He could feel the blood boil under his flesh. His lips were set in a straight line, and he bit the inside of his mouth. His fist gripped the handle of the saw so tight that it was as if he was squeezing the blood right out of his hands. A low rumble in his chest morphed into a small growl, escaping out from the corner of his mouth. With his anger at top-notch, Hatter grabbed the torso of his suspect, pulled his victim to his chest, and took one of his arms, sawing it off in three quick swipes. Disappointedly, the suspect said nothing. He was stubborn.

"Alright you filthy piece of nothing!" the Mad Hatter screeched, hurling the saw with such force that once it hit the wall opposite of him, the din made an echo; its sound vibrated against the four walls for several or more seconds, which in that time the Mad Hatter was quiet, struggling to keep his temper down. His eyes rested intently on his victim. His mouth was filled with blood from biting the inside of his mouth so much. He tugged roughly on his green waistcoat and stepped on the side of his suspect, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

"You are very brave, indeed," said he, stealing a glance at the thin victim beside him. "Many people have come to know that no one is worthy to press their tiny, grimy, gritty, grubby, smutty fingers on my precious hat!" He took a deep breath and shook his head, his replacement hat falling off and showing a head full of wild dark brown hair with a single streak of gray falling in front of his brown eyes. He kicked the Viking hat far away from him as possible. That lame excuse of a hat frustrated Hatter even further, but it was either that or a fake-fruit hat.

"I am not the Mad _Hatter_ without my hat!" he continued, circling around his suspect like a vulture, just waiting for him to crack under the pressure. "I am only mad!" Silence. "Damn you! What have you done with it?" He bent down and took hold of the victim's legs. Swinging around, he slammed the head of his suspect into which ever wall that came closest to them. He started to holler, forcing all of the air out of his lungs. He then twirled the body so that he had the victim's arm in one hand and half of the other arm in the other hand, and he began to smash the feet onto his desk, knocking off all of his papers and scattering them on the floor. Again and again the suspect's legs and feet hammered down against the Mad Hatter's desk, finally breaking him in two.

Hatter stood there – in the middle of chaos with each half of the coat rack he interrogated in his hands – where one tiny slip of paper fluttered down in front of his eyes. He dropped one piece of the battered coat rack and quickly snapped the paper out of the air. It was in the March Hare's handwriting, and it read:

_Dear Hatter,_

_I know of your strict rules about who touches your hat – only you – but I discovered a stain on the brim. You placed it on your desk, where I found you sleeping peacefully with your feet propped up on the desk, your arms folded, and your head crouched down. I did not want to wake you, and I thought it would be a nice surprise to have a clean hat! _

_With much love,_

_Marchy_

_P.S. I wore gloves so that I would not get my grimy, gritty, grubby, smutty fingerprints on it._

After Hatter read the note that he failed to notice on his desk, a smile crept on his lips until his mouth could not stretch out anymore. He dropped the other half of the coat rack as he slipped into the chair behind the desk. Even though Marchy broke his number one rule, Hatter could not help but feel a little light-heartedness towards his beloved bunny. However, a little punishment never hurt anyone. He crumbled up the note and let it fall to the ground, a sly grin playing around his lips.

"Tonight, my dear, you will pay for your crime."

_A/N: Now before you get hasty with the last line, it doesn't mean he will hit her. That latter statement does not involve the people who are perverted like me. Yes, exactly. Use your own crazy sexual fantasies to create something the Mad Hatter would use to 'punish' Marchy. A rubber ducky, a tea bag, some gardening gloves, and perhaps even a bag of flour. Go crazy. 8)_


End file.
